


Cephalon Fragments - Sker

by Punch_Detective



Series: Cephalon Fragments [2]
Category: Warframe
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Face Trauma, Gen, I love him, Minor Character Death, Violence, grineer society is very messed up, hello my name is rev and i am writing a backstory for my oc sker, hes a charger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punch_Detective/pseuds/Punch_Detective
Summary: This is the backstory for my Grineer/Infested OC Sker.  I rp him on tumblr at infested-meridian.tumblr.comEnjoy!General trigger warnings: violence, blood, Grineer society being messed up, Infestation nastiness, and body horror
Series: Cephalon Fragments [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661407
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	1. Birth

He was born on one of the vast factory colonies of the Grineer - armor and weaponry being churned out of foundries just miles away from the Vats. Hands grabbed him and pulled him up and out, viscous embryonic fluid still clinging to his body. Weak muscles crumpled under his own weight, and gibberish reached his ears. The air stung his throat and lungs and he heaved a cough, wiping fluid from his nose and mouth before blearly opening his eyes. The gibberish returned, but this time it was excited chattering as the rough hands that had pulled him out of the vats once again gripped him and hoisted him to his feet - cheering and patting him on the back.

Then, he was thrust under bright lights and sat on an uncomfortable metal bench. There was a stranger looking him over, and other strangers who were also still covered in yellow-orange liquid and looking about as confused as he felt. They all looked the same - minor variations here and there, different body types and bone structure, but all the same face. As they looked at each other, a slow understanding grew in each and every one of them. They didn’t have the words for it quite yet, but they were siblings. Born from the same vats, at the same time, on the same factory-world. Batchmates, with the same series of numbers embedded under their skin as they each, in turn, were passed into the training facilities. They were clothed, fed a slurry that tasted almost exactly like the fluid in the vats, and shuffled into a room with bunks. At least one white-clad stranger helped him and his freshly-emerged siblings walk, unceremoniously dumping them on the bunk that matched their numbers. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers as he lay awake, focusing on the breathing around him. Eventually, his vigilance failed and sleep claimed him.

When he awoke, one of their number was cold and stiff. Those that could stand stood around them, curiously touching the body and trying to get them to wake up. He didn’t join them, only shaking his head sadly when one of his siblings tugged on his arm. The white-wearing strangers carried them away later in the day, watched by sad eyes. There was an intuitive understanding that they weren’t coming back, and a vigil was held in the small room that night. Even without verbal communication yet, the batch-siblings set aside the lost one’s bunk as somewhere that was not to be disturbed. Nobody else slept or even sat there… And nobody else was lifeless the next morning.

He came to understand words that were spoken to him. Slowy, at first. Individual words like  _ Grineer _ \- meaning what he was,  _ queens _ \- who he served, and  _ Corpus _ \- who he hated. His body felt behind the others - thin in comparison, still struggling to walk and lift his  _ grakata _ (that was a word he liked, he muttered it to himself at night until one of his siblings hit him with a pillow when he had first learned it) - but he was the first to speak, the first to count, and the first to read. There were 15 of them. 16 counting the Lost One. He would lay awake, listening to the strangers in white talk. They were called  _ midwives _ , and there was talk of  _ culling _ . He didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like it. It left the same feeling in his chest as passing the Lost One’s bunk.

He found his name during a check-up. A doctor turned to the midwife who had brought him and asked for his batch number. His voice was still weak and broke as he tried to say  _ Sixteen-R _ .

“Sk-errr.” It was more of a choked noise than a word, but the doctor still turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“Sker?” He asked, looking at the midwife. “I think it said  _ Sker _ . I think it  _ understands _ what we’re saying.”

“Sixteen-R? Yeah. It’s smarter than the others. Now it just has to keep up with its batchmates. The Queens only wanted fourteen strong Lancers. If its development stays like this… Well, we’ve culled smart ones before.”

“Hear that, Sker?” The doctor turned to him, finally turning back to him and patting him on the arm. “You have to get stronger than your siblings. Won’t matter how good of a conversationalist you are if you’re a cull. You’ve got maybe two weeks before I have to make my decision. Do you know how many night-sleeps that is?”

He still didn’t know what culling meant, but he still didn’t like it. A sigh escaped his narrow chest, and he nodded. “T’nn.”

The hand on his shoulder moved to the side of his face. “You think you can get strong in ten days, Sker?”

Sker looked at the doctor, brows furrowing together as he glared. His mouth worked mutely for a few moments before he nodded. He pushed the doctor away as best he could and slipped off the examination table to make his way back to the training room, angrily waving off any midwives who tried to help him and using the walls to support himself when his legs threatened to give out. That night, his countdown began. Nine days left to surpass his weakest sibling.

His aim improved, as did his speed and strength. He could run in full battle armor far longer than he could before… but he was still the slowest. He still struggled to lift the heavy boxes that they all had to be able to move. None of his siblings knew of a cull. None of his siblings knew only fourteen of them would be sent out. When he told them, in a hushed voice under cover of night and sealed doors, most just laughed. Only one believed him. She had been born without legs, and metal and wire now replaced what she did not grow.

“How long?” She asked, eyes wide in the dark. Bramma, her name. After the noise made by the rough weapon she had built in the training room with wire, curved metal, a straight bolt, and a stolen grenade. It was quickly taken, and the midwives told her that if she climbed the ranks, she could once more begin to build weaponry.

“Three more night-sleeps.” Sker replied, tone grim. “For me, at least. You? No worries. Stronger than all of us.”

She smiled, and pressed her forehead to Sker’s, hand on the back of his head. He returned the gesture, and she leaned back to look at him. “Luck to you, Sker. You’re smart. Figure something out.”

He didn’t sleep that night. The Lost One’s bunk lay empty, and he could feel its presence from across the room. When the sounds around him turned to sleep, he slowly got out of his bunk and walked over to the Lost One’s, hand hovering over the pristine sheets before he sank to his knees before it and tilted his head to the side to look underneath. It was broken on the back edge, a sharp piece of metal sticking out at an odd angle that caught the light when the midwives would come to check. Twelve-R, who hadn’t gotten a name yet, had broken a bone in training. Sker could see the similarities between the broken strut and the broken arm. Twelve-R would make it. Even with an arm wrapped in metal and cloth they were the third best in the batch. Sker sat back, taking a quiet breath in before placing both hands on the metal of the Lost One’s bunk.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “But know I do this so that I may live.”

Ripped cloth protected his hand as he worked the piece of metal free. Once the cloth was wrapped around the dull end, the usable length was barely longer than Sker’s thumb. He hid the makeshift blade under his mattress, heart pounding in his throat as the others slept. It would have to be enough.

Morning came with the lights suddenly flickering on and bathing the room in a sick, yellow light while the doors banged open. Grumbles came from the batch as they stood to go to the training room. Sker lingered behind, taking his knife from under his mattress and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. There were two days left, and he wasn’t quite sure of what he was about to do. He felt dizzy, sick. Much like when he was first pulled from the vats and unceremoniously thrust into consciousness, but this time the blood was rushing in his ears for an entirely different reason. He was following Thirteen-R, a cruel member of the batch. It was during sparring that Thirteen had broken Twelve’s arm, and had stood there and laughed as his brother fell to the floor in pain. Thirteen liked to shower before training, and Sker silently followed him into the showers - pulling the blade out of his pants and hiding it behind his back.

All of his focus was on Thirteen. As the water began to run, foul smelling and cold, Sker made his move. He was wholly unaware of the two midwives who had seen him with the blade and had followed him and Thirteen. Neither midwife made any motion to  _ stop _ Sker, though, and simply watched as he gripped the blade and attacked. His bare feet splashed in the water, and the blade embedded in Thirteen’s arm.

Shock kept him from screaming as instinct took over and Thirteen swung one fist into Sker’s face with a wet crunch and a bloom of pain. Sker hit the ground hard, blood flowing free from his now-crooked nose. It mixed with the filthy water and flowed towards the drain - spreading it and making every injury look far worse than it was. Sker shook his head, flicking blood onto the walls and scrambling to his feet as he backed up, trying to take stock of the situation. He bumped into one of the midwives, who were now blocking the exit and watching with great amusement. Sker was shoved forward, and the midwife nodded at him.

“Either die or finish what you started.”

Sker’s blood went cold. He had no weapon, and Thirteen was larger, faster, and stronger than he was... And now he had the blade in his hand, looking at it with amusement. 

“So small. What did you hope to achieve?” Sker had never heard Thirteen actually talk before. He sounded amused. He sounded like the voice on the radio. One of the high-ranking Grineer, whose blood had been given to the vats to create more officers. Sker spat blood at the drain and squinted up at Thirteen.

“Fuck you.” He spat, shaking his head and snorting out a short laugh that sent another spray of blood down his front. There was no way he could beat this opponent in a fair fight, and Sker had no intention of dying here. Only option left was to fight dirty, so fight dirty he would.

Thirteen slowly approached, moving slowly over the slick metal of the showers. The blade was clutched in his hand with a grip so tight Sker didn’t know how he would get it back. An arc was carved through the water, and Sker let himself slip to dodge to the side. His side screamed in pain, but Thirteen had not plunged the blade into his neck. Sker raised his leg and kicked at Thirteen’s knee, his heel striking squarely on the other Grineer’s joint and catching him off guard. It didn’t do much, but judging by Thirteen’s shout of pain and quick movement away… It hurt a lot.

More importantly, it gave Sker space. He rolled to his front and crawled towards the midwives, struggling to his feet before falling on one of them dramatically.

“Useless little-!” He was pushed off, but his hand had closed around his true prize and it came with him as Sker was once again forced towards the fray. His shoulder was throbbing, his nose was still gushing blood, but Sker was smiling in a way that made even Thirteen hesitate.

Sker slowly raised his arm, and the midwife suddenly realized the holster at his hip was too light. A burst of gunfire, and Thirteen was falling to the ground - face frozen in shock as blood leaked from the bullet holes in his chest. The gun - a Viper, Sker would later learn - was wrenched from his hand and Sker was dragged out of the showers, his batch staring in shock as the soaked and bloodied Grineer began to laugh. Even Bramma, who had always insisted she trusted Sker even if he was strange, turned away.

“Why did you do that?!” One of the midwives demanded, shaking Sker by the shoulders as his hysterics continued. “Are you insane?”

“Tell the doctor there’s nothing to cull now.” Sker spat, giddy with manic relief. “He told me the Queens wanted fourteen strong Lancers. Now there’s fourteen.”

The report sent to the Grineer Command described a certain member of the most recent R batch as… precocious.

_ #101-72-481-16-R may prove to be a bit of a handful, but he shows great promise in many fields, including combat. Though his physical development is visibly behind that of his other remaining batchmates, his intellectual development far surpasses them and gives him an edge in combat, going as far as to use improvised weaponry and take weaponry from fallen or even still-standing comrades. However, he should also be monitored for expression of the Meridian sequences, but he has already proven that the Kavor’s pacifism defect is not present, as we were previously concerned. _

At barely three weeks old, Sker became the first of his batch to kill.


	2. Transit

They were packed into first an Ogma, then a Galleon. It was the first time Sker had seen other Grineer who weren't midwives or the doctor. Other batches, other vats, but all the same series. Sker was not the only one to have still-fading bruises and healing cuts, but there seemed to be a difference in why they were there. Thirteen-R's cruelty had seemed to be an isolated event. A sheer fluke. All the other batches laughed and talked together as they went to their assigned bunks, and the R batch was silent by comparison. Twelve - now going by Twek - was still nursing their broken arm, and they and Bramma were the only two who would stay near Sker for any long amount of time, but even they were wary of the smallest member of their batch.

Trying to explain himself only seemed to make it worse, Sker had discovered fairly quickly. There was talk of paranoia on the Galleon, of the R batch having something  _ different _ about it. Some clearly didn't believe the small, wiry Lancer-to-be could have committed fratricide. A few members of the E batch - huge, threatening Grineer with abilities Sker did not quite understand - cornered him in the Galleon’s mess hall. There were whispers that the E batch had been grown from a new imprint, or at least an altered one. Something about stolen technology to counter the newest threat.  _ Tenno _ , whatever that was. Either way, the smallest of them still had a good 3 feet on him, and their shadows fell heavily over Sker. One snorted and grabbed Sker’s arm - his grip colder than the bare metal of the bunks first thing after a night-sleep.

“I don’t believe it.” He said, all but pulling Sker into the air. “Look at him. There’s no way he could do  _ that _ .”

Sker squirmed free, dropping to the ground and trying to duck away from the E batch, but even as small and slight as he was, he couldn’t slip away. The one who had grabbed him elbowed his brother in the side and nodded to Sker. The entire batch was regarding him with a sense of disdain. Like he was beneath them, but they still had to deal with him. He’d seen the same expression on Bramma’s face when it was her turn to clean.

“You think you can get away with fratricide, runt?” The cold E batch member was saying, and Sker just shook his head.

“Didn’t have a choice.” He mumbled, avoiding eye contact as the other Grineer knelt down to match him in height. “Thirteen was… Hurting people.”

“You killed the best in your batch. Who cares if he was hurting people? That’s kind of what we’re made to do.”

Sker closed his eyes, turning away as he waited to get hit. That’s how things had been when Thirteen was around. It seems he was wrong when he thought Thirteen was a fluke. He was just the only one who had turned the cruelty within on his own batch. The strike never came. An eye cracked open to see the E batch standing at attention as metallic footsteps made their way over. Sker could feel his heartbeat in his neck as he scrambled to attention.

“Hurting people?” The question is directed to Sker, that much is obvious. “Explain.”

“Twek’s arm. Thirteen broke it. There were others hurt but… Twek got the worst of it.” Sker answered, mouth dry. He knew who was speaking to him. He had been trained to recognize all of them on sight. There weren’t many commanding officers, so it was easy. “I… I killed Thirteen because of that.”

Captain Vor rubbed his chin as he looked over Sker, one eyebrow raised.

“Is that the only reason?”

Sker bowed his head, shame turning his sallow cheeks pinkish. “Not quite, sir. I was told there would be a cull. That my batch only needed fourteen of us. There were sixteen at the start.”

“So you killed… The one who was hurting your batchmates.” Vor’s expression was difficult to read. A metal hand clapped Sker on the shoulder as the Captain nodded approvingly. “That takes guts. Do you know where your batch is being stationed?”

“Mercury, sir.”

A smile split Vor’s face as he patted Sker’s narrow shoulders. “Excellent! I look forward to having you under my command. If the rest of your batch is anything like you… You and your siblings may end up the best on the planet. Aside from me, of course.”

"But I killed him." Sker's voice is weak as Vor turned to leave, the stunned E batch unsure of how to react. "I killed one of my batchmates."

Vor stopped and turned to look at him. "You have demonstrated you are willing to do the unthinkable to protect yourself and others. That is a very valuable trait. Any unit would be lucky to have you." Sker stared at him in shock for a few moments before Vor gestured for the young Grineer to come to his side. “Walk with me.”

Sker awkwardly fell into step beside Vor, not quite meeting the commander’s --  _ his  _ commander’s eyes. Once they were well enough away from the galley and the E batch, Vor stopped and looked at Sker before sighing and shaking his head. His body seemed to be mostly mechanical, and made up of the dull greys, browns, and reds Sker had grown familiar with. The only thing that stood out to the young Grineer was the golden shape all but embedded in Vor’s chest. A Void Key, he’d heard it called.

“You’re 16-R, right? What name are you using now?”

“I- Sker, sir.”

“Sker. I’ve been told to keep an eye on  _ you _ , specifically. To make sure you only serve the Queens. To make sure you remain Loyal. I meant what I said back there, but if you end up turning your back on the Grineer as a whole, I will have no choice but to take care of things. Do you understand?” He was speaking frankly, openly. There was an implication to his words, but Vor seemed intent on making himself completely clear. “If I catch so much of a whiff of defection from you… The least I can do is make sure your end is quick. You’re a good man, Sker. Prove to me you’re a good soldier too.”

Sker’s heart was once again pounding in his throat as he mutely nodded. Every nerve and muscle in his body was screaming for him to run - to bolt away from Captain Vor and to take refuge with Twek and Bramma in the R batch’s dorm on the ship. But he screwed his eyes shut for a brief moment and remained where he was standing. Vor squinted at the much, much younger Grineer. At the moment, his behavior was completely inscrutable. Eventually, Vor cracked a smile when he realized why Sker hadn’t left his presence. Good to see he was already refusing to show even a trace of defection. Hopefully as he got a little older, Sker would be able to differentiate between ‘not a defector’ and ‘blindly obedient’.

“... You are dismissed.” A vague hand gesture accompanied the order, and Vor couldn’t help but watch, slightly amused, as Sker bolted for the dorms. With luck, in a few days the Galleon would arrive on Mercury. Of all the batches being transported, only the R batch was to come to the planet with Vor. E was to be stationed on Mars with Lech Kril. A through D and T were all destined for Vay Hek and Earth. The T batch was special-order, using Hek’s own imprint. They were a rowdy bunch, and smeared red paint over their armor almost as a group the first moment they got. Vor found himself thinking he would be glad to be rid of them, though perhaps they were exactly the sort of uncouth force needed to finally take Cetus.

Then there was R batch. After D the letters started meaning things, usually using the first letter of the word for what they were. E were Eximus units - new, volatile, and full of potential. T were the Tusks, why Vay Hek had chosen that as a name was beyond Vor, and he wasn’t about to press for details from the most obnoxious of the Grineer commanders. R was experimental, an unknown variable. Multiple imprints fractured and mixed together, supervised by Tyl Regor himself. Vor had been one donor, as had most of the other Grineer commanders. The Queens had been against it at first, calling the very idea of  _ recombinant  _ Grineer blasphemy. But Tyl had been convincing, and the R batch was greenlit. Vor had vouched for his brother, and the project’s legitimacy.

So now it fell on  _ his  _ shoulders to watch the R batch’s development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had two chapters finished already lol


	3. Mercury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sker is stationed on Mercury, and has a bad run-in with something that used to be Grineer, but isn't anymore.
> 
> Chapter warnings: gore, light body horror and infestation yuck

The planet was swelteringly hot during the day and freezing cold at night, even inside the Grineer compounds. Outside the Grineer compounds, it was uninhabitable. A wall had buckled from damage and Sker’s skin was still red and blistered from the radiation that had poured in while he had scrambled with his unit to fix it. Nobody wore their armor outside of active combat. It was too hot for that. Bramma had given Sker a leaf she had carefully removed and peeled from an odd plant. It soothed burns from hot metal and fire, and did something to help with the radiation. There was an attempt to hide injuries as much as possible on Mercury. Not because of Vor, no. The Captain was nothing but a positive force among his soldiers, calling them his children and making sure they were healthy and happy as much as was possible for the rank and file of the Grineer military when he visited.

No, they hid injuries because of the head doctor. Sker did not like doctors. His first experiences with them were, in short, not pleasant. His nose was still crooked from Thirteen breaking it, and it likely always would be. Only the Queens would be able to get him to voluntarily submit to any more Grineer medicine that was necessary, especially from _him_. Tengus. Something about his demeanor set Sker on edge in a way that nobody - not even Thirteen - had. It wasn’t his bizarre helmet, or the way he spoke. For Sker, it was the way he treated his “patients” - there was a sick, sadistic glee in the doctor’s eye whenever Sker helped drag an injured compatriot in for treatment.

Sometimes the treatment helped. Sometimes it left them hurt more than ever. Sometimes it just outright killed them. Privately, Sker thought those were the lucky ones, though that was not a sentiment he would ever give voice to.

“Do you feel that at _all_ ?” Bramma was asking him something as he scratched at some of the healing skin. It was pink and hot and _itchy_ , but once the top layer was peeled off, the itching went away. More concerning was the fact Sker could barely notice when she poked him in the arm with a piece of scrap metal beyond some pressure. “I still think you should see Tengus.”

“I’m not going to.” Sker grumbled, pulling his hand away from Bramma. “What does it matter? I can tell where my arm is, so what if I can’t feel you poking it.”

“It might get worse!” Bramma prostested, earning her an overhead shush from one of their resting batchmates.

“He’s busy with those weirdos anyway.” Sker rolled over so his back was facing Bramma, tucking his hand up underneath his head. It was quiet for a few moments before Sker spoke again - his voice small. “Am I like them? What are they called now? Grustrag Three? Do you all… Think _I’m_ like that?”

“The situation with Thirteen was different.” Twek piped up from the other bunk. “You didn’t have a choice. They do… _that_ for fun.”

Sker followed that with a noncommittal grumble, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. When the breathing around him evened out, the small Lancer slipped from his bunk and padded barefoot down the halls. Like most off-duty Grineer on Mercury, he was only wearing a rough sleeveless top and the barest minimum of shorts. Anyone who looked to be “wearing” more than that probably had extensive cybernetics. It made it easier to hear them coming. Sker ducked under a pipe as a patrol passed behind him, poking his head back out to watch them for a few moments before continuing on his way.

Damned if anyone would make him see the “good doctor” on his own, but Tengus had medicines and the good quality rations that the average Grineer soldier couldn’t get their hands on. Not without either rising the ranks or stealing them. Sker was not above the latter, and his personality proved him ill-disposed for the former. He had gotten hurt, and since then though he had no problems moving it, his left arm was all but void of sensation save for tingling. Bramma was well aware of the problem, constantly hounding him to see Tengus.

Maybe she was right. But that’s not why Sker was slipping into the medbay. As far as he was concerned, so long as the tingling numbness never spread beyond his limb he was fine. This trip was to get salves and tinctures that would help with the radiation burns, and maybe food - if Tengus still kept snacks in the medbay. Within a few minutes, Sker had snuck along the floor and into the supply cabinet and was in the middle of gathering the medicines his unit needed when he heard the door slam open. Acting on instinct, he dropped to the floor and slid under a shelf. Theft was not tolerated among the Grineer - if he was caught the best that could happen is that he was made an “example of” and killed quickly.

He didn’t have a concept for the worst. Only that the name _Rathuum_ inspired equal parts terror and awe in his chest. 

Sker poked his head out from under the shelves to try and see through the gap in the supply closet door who had entered the medbay. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps, and as he strained to listen he once again froze at a voice he knew well.

“What… _Is_ it, Tengus?”

Vor. The very man who had put the fear of defecting into Sker. He hadn’t heard him enter the medbay, either too distracted by the noise the door made or too wrapped up in his own head to notice that the medbay hadn’t been empty. There was a new sound. Something gurgling and snarling. Some part of Sker thought it sounded like a busted pipe, but that couldn’t have been right. It was too _organic_ , too _meaty_. Something alive was making the noise.

“Not too close, Vor. I still don’t know how infective it is.” Tengus cautioned as the Thing made another noise. There was a rattling sound, like it was in a cage or somehow tied down with chains.

“But what _is_ it?” Vor’s exasperation was palpable in his voice alone. Apparently this had been a dance he and Tengus had been doing for some time.

“It _was_ one of our troops. Now it’s… Something else. Something new. Or perhaps something very, very old.” 

Metal rang in a way Sker was familiar with. A blade of some sort, pulled from its home. Maybe, if Vor and Tengus were distracted, Sker pulled himself a little further out of the shelves before once again freezing. Tengus was still talking.

“The stories I’ve read called it the Infestation. It’s a thinking disease. If I can figure out how to guide it, then perhaps it will give us the edge we need on the Tenno. Troops who have been infected are… Not particularly controllable, but with enough time in the Grustrag facilities, I have been able to recondition even the most unruly. This one’s fate… Is likely vivisection. To see if I can’t figure out what makes the infected tick the way they do.”

“And, pray tell, how do they tick.” To his credit, Vor sounded disgusted with the whole situation. Sker could see his shadow against the wall, and the man’s posture seemed to imply he found the lumpy shape in front of him an affront to all things Grineer.

“The infected are far more resistant to injury, except from fire. They don’t seem to like the heat or the light. That’s why this specimen is here. It won’t survive out on the surface, and if it escapes we can simply blow a hole in the ceiling and let Sol do the work for us.” Tengus explained as the creature thrashed once more. “They are also considerably more violent. I’ve seen them turn on their former comrades only moments after transformation.”

Vor’s shadow moved away from the wall as the sound of the creature straining against its bonds and the table it was strapped to gave way to an ear-shattering crash. The captain swore loudly as he jumped away from the creature, while Tengus hummed in curiosity.

“Strange. I’ve only seen this behavior when they smell blood. Don’t shoot it just yet, captain. Let’s see where it’s going.”

Sker’s mouth went dry as he looked down at the gash on his arm. It must have happened when he had crawled under the shelves, and he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed because it didn’t hurt. Even as he struggled to his feet and reached for a weapon, it didn’t hurt. The door was forced open and a twisted mass of flesh and armor collided with Sker - teeth made of jagged bone embedding in his arm. It dragged Sker out of the cabinet as the small Grineer pressed his Viper to what he hoped was where it kept its brain and opened fire. An entire clip went into the creature’s body, but it still chewed on Sker’s arm. In desperation, he struck it with the butt of his gun again and again, eventually finding a soft spot and driving the blunt object home. The abscess burst, trickling down the side of the creature’s face as its jaws spread wide to howl in pain.

It was Vor who killed the creature. He pushed Sker out of the way, stuffed the barrel of a Gorgon Wraith in its mouth, and didn’t lift his finger off the trigger until it stopped moving. It fell to the side, gore leaking from its stomach and mouth as the last spasms of life left it. Sker was frozen where he sat, horrified at all he had seen. Horrified at the deep puncture wounds in his arm.

Horrified that he may face the same fate as the corpse in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's this fic's turn to finally get updated and hopefully finished soon
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you're enjoying Sker's story


	4. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sker got mauled by a charger and now Tengus and Vor are going to yell at each other and everything is sucks for Sker
> 
> Special thanks to @HelmofHades for helping me out w some of Vor's dialogue ily bro

They talked about him like he wasn’t there. A dull ringing had started in Sker's ears as he sat with unfocused eyes. The two higher rank Grineer were arguing about… About him. What to do with him.

"Is there preventative treatment? Some sort of- of post exposure prophylaxis for this thing?" Vor was asking, pacing around the room. He had essentially picked Sker up by the scruff of the neck like a mother hyekka while all but dragging Tengus along with him as he stormed into Tengus' office. A biohazard crew, armed with Ignises, had been dispatched to immolate the corpse and dispose of the ashes while Vor glowered over Tengus as the doctor patched Sker's wound.

"Not… exactly, no." Tengus almost sounded sheepish. "I suppose we could amputate, but once symptoms start to show I've only found one effective treatment, and none of them have been chemical in nature."

"So. What is this… singular treatment?" Vor asked, gesturing at the shell-shocked Sker. "I hope you know that this one has promise. He's one of my best soldiers, willing to do the unthinkable for his family."

"A bullet, shot directly into the brain stem." Tengus' words seemed to drop the temperature of the room several degrees. For the first time since arriving on Mercury, Sker felt a true chill. The doctor who, despite his dislike of, Sker had always felt was at least capable of curing things had simply shrugged off the fact he was most likely infected with something incurable… and his only recommended treatment was to  _ kill him _ . Vor’s hand wrapped around Tengus’ neck as he forced the doctor against the wall - teeth bared in a snarl. He squawked in protest, grabbing at Vor's hand to try and force it away from himself.

"Captain- He- he was stealing! I wasn't treating him, he was in here to steal supplies! We don't know why he--"

"Tengus." Vor interrupted, his voice dark. "This man is one of my best soldiers. He has proven time and again that he is willing to go above and beyond for his family. If you don't cure him… not even Regor will be able to fix what will be left of you when I'm finished"

“Ask him who his family is!” Tengus was grasping at straws, yes, but the demand was enough to make Vor hesitate, so the doctor kept talking. “If he doesn’t consider the entirety of the Grineer his family… That’s Meridian sequences. You know that, Vor… Are you just in denial that one of your hand-picked favorites, slated to be by your side once he’s a fully-fledged trooper, could possibly be a defector? Or is it something else. I know you call your troops your children. I know you were a donor for the recombinant experiments. If this… Scrawny thing is your genetic offspring, or even direct copy… What does that mean for you if he defects?”

Tengus’ eyes glittered as Vor slowly released him. He coughed a few times, rubbing his neck and trying to hide his smug smile as Vor turned his glower onto Sker. The Captain’s expression softened by a tenth of a degree, what paternal pride he had shining through even in his rage. He knelt in front of Sker, who was still drenched in his own blood even if the source of the flow had been stemmed. A metal hand was placed as gently as was possible on the small Grineer’s shoulder, and Vor squeezed Sker’s arm to make sure he was paying attention.

“Sker…” Vor trailed off. Some part of Sker could tell that he already knew the answer, and the look in his eyes was him asking for Sker to lie to him.

“My family is those I spill blood for.” Sker’s voice was barely above a scratchy whisper, and he met Vor’s gaze with a look of apology. He was already dead. There was no reason for him to lie. “And that… Is not the Grineer Empire. They have not earned my bloodshed.”

Vor’s face twisted. He released Sker and stepped back from him like the sentiment he had just voiced was infectious - though that was not what made Sker flinch and turn away. It was the look in Vor’s eyes. He looked hurt, rejected by that which he considered a son. That which he had donated his own unique accumulated mutations to create. What hurt Sker the most, was that Vor was not angry with him. It was that he was mourning him. It was the mix of pity and sadness on Vor’s face as he turned his back on Sker to look at Tengus - who was making no attempt to hide his glee.

“I can keep this  _ quiet _ , Vor.” Tengus all but purred. “This is a one-off. A fluke. The poor man’s delirious with a fever. The Queens never have to know your genes produced a defector. They don’t need to know you aren’t the gene-deep loyalist you’re supposed to be.”

Sker raised his head to watch as Vor grabbed Tengus by the front of his cybernetics and slammed him against the wall. It was an open secret that Vor had given to make the R batch, but hearing it spoken out loud suddenly made it real. Tengus’ smug aura had evaporated as Vor snarled at him, shaking the other Grineer until his cybernetics rattled.

“I don’t give a  _ fuck  _ if they know!” Vor snarled. “Have I not proven my loyalty time and time again? If. IF they find out. They will only think better of me because that will mean I, unlike you, made the choice to be loyal. Sequence me for all I care. But you are trying to bargain, aren’t you Tengus? You want to study my infected offspring. Very well, I  _ accept _ . You don’t tell the Queens, and Sker stays here. But if an outbreak happens, I  _ will  _ kill you.”

With that final threat, Vor stalked out of the medbay - leaving Sker alone with a shell shocked Tengus. The former curled in on himself and slowly began to cry as the closest thing to a father he would ever have slammed the door shut. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but it was the pulsing in his bandaged arm that made Sker weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also I've 100% given up on like, planning the number of chapters my fics have who does that not me I tried with this one and I've extended it like 3 times because I had shit to say that didn't fit.


	5. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sker's a charger now! WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS GROSS! Body horror, disease progression, Generally Very Nasty. Feel free to skip it if you feel you need to.
> 
> Too gross; didn't read: Sker lays around sick, Tengus reveals he wants the Infestation to spread, Sker and Vor have a heart to heart before Sker turns into a Charger.
> 
> I had way too much fun writing this and I am not offended if nobody wants to read it, because it's gross and I have something wrong with me.

He didn’t resist when Tengus dragged him into a holding cell. He barely reacted when the door closed and left him in the sick yellow light of Grineer prisons. He simply curled into a ball and tried to hide. There was nothing to hide from, but Sker still felt the gene-deep need to hide. So he hid in his pathetic cell by turning so he faced the corner, pressing his forehead against the cool metal. Tengus would be back eventually to check on him. To see how far the disease taking root in his arm had spread. But for now Sker was alone with his thoughts, and that was worse than whatever Tengus would have in store for him.

The only true measures of time’s passage in the cell was the steady creep of the infection. Mealtimes were erratic, water he could actually drink moreso, so Sker fell back on the only thing he had - the grey-black line slowly tracing its way up his arm. He had seen blood poisoning before, multiple times. One of the other batches had a member who had stepped on an exposed rivet, and that puncture went deep. The culmination of that disease was not the rotting of flesh and fever, but spasms so strong he snapped his own bones. Sker had seen rot, he had helped in emergency amputations, he knew what the tracing of red lines up from the site of injury that came with burning fever meant.

What was happening to his arm was not dissimilar. Somewhere around the third day he had torn away the bandages, since it had become clear that nobody was coming to change them. The puncture wounds had become sores that oozed a thick liquid, purulent but not stinking, and his skin had turned thick and grey. If there was pain, his already deadened nerves weren’t letting him feel it. Fever came when the crawling sickness had reached his shoulder, and with it blissful delirium. By that time, his arm had been twisted and warped - all but useless to him unless he needed help supporting himself against the wall as he inched to the door to eat what little of his meals he could. Though through his fever a hunger gnawed at him, the food given was unappetizing in a way he could not identify. A bitterness had taken root in what had previously been tasteless, and Sker could not bring himself to swallow. The water carried that same flavor, and when Tengus came to visit him Sker found himself spitting words at the doctor that did not feel as if they were wholly his own.

“ _ Poisoner _ !” He rasped, his hair slick with sweat and plastered to his forehead as he snarled at Tengus. The light burned his eyes, and he shielded his face from the beam streaming into his room as the doctor clicked his tongue. “What did you put in this?”

Sker flung the tray his food had been in Tengus’ direction, before curling in on himself once more. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and the knowledge that every pump was sending the infection further through his body. Rough, grey patches had begun to grow on areas that hadn’t been directly exposed, and where his clothing didn’t stick to his sweaty skin, it hung loosely. Sker had lost what little fat he had, and the already gaunt Grineer had turned emaciated over the course of his sickness.

“Ah, so you could taste it.” Tengus seemed unsurprised and unbothered by Sker’s lashing out. “I put the one anti-Infestation drug we currently have in it. Given your reaction, it is likely too late and has taken hold. Oh well.”

“ _ Oh well _ ?” Sker repeated, incredulous. His head swam as he stood, staggering forward with teeth bared. "I'm going to become the same sort of thing that infected me and all you have to say is 'oh well'?! I- I could cause an outbreak! You should shoot me now and be over with it!"

"I want to cause an outbreak." Sick glee radiated off of Tengus as he opened the door to Sker’s cell, reaching forward to lovingly cup the side of his face. “As we speak, the disease is festering and growing inside of you. You will be the first in a new breed of soldier - unknowing of pain or fear as you tear through the enemy. Any who survive your onslaught and the following transformation will fight for us, and spread our reach further. You will see the beauty in sepsis and gangrene as I have, and be a new convert. You don’t understand yet, but you will soon. Very soon. Soon you will be a scion of like-flesh, and see the truth of what I speak.”

Sker wanted to recoil from Tengus’ touch. His skin crawled and muscle spasms shook his slight frame, but he didn’t recoil. Something held him still as Tengus caressed his cheek, his muscles locked in place despite his mind screaming at them to move. The fear that had been sitting in Sker’s chest reached its peak, and he finally staggered back, aghast.

“You’re spreading it. You’re spreading it on purpose.” Sker accused, pressing his hand to his head as a pulsing ache began behind his eyes. “You’re… You do not serve the Queens! You’re a carrier. Plague rat!”

“Nobody will believe you even if you tell them.” Tengus said, calmly closing the cell door as Sker slammed against it. “You’re delirious with fever. Not safe for anyone but myself to be around. They’ll believe me much more readily than the words of a sick man.”

Sker’s world narrowed down into moments of clarity between deranged dreams of twisting flesh and gnashing teeth. His body ached in the clear moments, bone threatening to break as sinew prepared for the coming changes. It was in one of his waking dreams that he first heard the not-voices of the Infestation at the back of his mind. At first, it was only noise - howling and gibbering coming from twisted things driven mad by the same disease that coursed through Sker’s very veins, but as time went on the meaning slowly became clear. They were wordless, voiceless, not communicating in any way that Sker knew, but he  _ understood _ . A compulsion was being set in his mind, the urge to grow and consume until all was that of the like-flesh. He did not find beauty in it. The Infestation’s madness was a gift, a release from the pain and sickness he felt when he was himself - but Sker did not want it. He clung to his sanity, his  _ self _ as hard as he could, with the desperate hands of a man who knew he was going to drown. His lucid moments were growing shorter and further apart, and he spent that time terrified and in pain worse than he had ever known before.

It was during one of those rare moments of lucidity that he opened his eyes to Vor watching him from outside the door. The Grineer commander looked pained as Sker struggled to sit up before giving up and remaining where he lay. Vor was talking to him, or at least at him. Sker could barely hear him, and it almost sounded like he was praying - though the Grineer did not pray.

“You know, I get it now.” Sker’s voice was hoarse and it cracked as he spoke, pausing to wet chapped lips. “I am… Sacrificial. It doesn’t actually matter what happens to me at this point.”

Vor looked up as Sker coughed, taking in rattling breaths as he tried to clear out his lungs and throat long enough to speak. Something came up, and Sker spat it out without looking at what it was. This moment of lucidity had brought with it nothing more than apathy. Sker spoke in between labored breaths, fighting to rasp out the few words he had left.

“I… Am happy to give my life like this, so long as it means that the rest of them are safe. I am not dying, but honor my wishes as if I was. Take them. Take them and run from here.”

“Sker, I’m-” Vor started as Sker paused to wheeze.

“Let me finish. Tengus is planning to cause an outbreak. I know, I know you think I’m lying but-” Sker paused to release a wheezy laugh. “What reason do I have to lie? I was dead the moment I was bitten. Don’t try and fight it. Just run. I took the fall for everyone, so that nobody else is suspected of being a defector. I understand that. Don’t let them die because of this disease instead.”

“Sker!” Vor once again tried to interject as the Infested Grineer finally pushed himself into a sitting position. “Listen to me, I-”

“No. You listen.” Sker was panting, finally managing to meet Vor’s eyes through the observation window. “I. Forgive you. I  _ forgive  _ you. For everything.”

If there was a response, Sker never heard it. Delirium once more claimed him, and he fell to the floor. His body spasmed as the culmination of the Infestation’s changes took root. Bones snapped and twisted and tore through muscle and skin. Nerves bloomed, synapsing into new connections as carapace formed and hardened to protect vital organs. A maw with teeth made of jagged bone erupted, and Sker’s voice was added to the cacophony of the Infested Hivemind. He shook out his new form, spreading a fine spray of spores through the cell as tendrils of Infestation curled off his body.

The Grineer was gone. Only the Charger remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I was super inspired because of Tennocon I think. Thanks for reading!


	6. Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sker gets cured! Sort of.

The Infestation’s reach was halted by the radiant heat and light from Sol. Each time its progress caused a ceiling support to crumble and fail, the creeping disease recoiled from the resulting hole. The promised outbreak had come, set loose deliberately when a Corpus cruiser came too close for comfort. It rampaged through the ship, spreading beyond its Mercurian grasp and gleefully consuming all it came across. All but the Tenno.

It was a Tenno and two allied operatives that found the source of the outbreak. A Grineer training facility, now abandoned and covered in roaming Infested of all kinds. Both operatives were hesitant to follow their Tenno escort inside, but they had no choice when their ever-silent companion simply kicked open a grate and ducked inside a vent. One that was matted with the omnipresent grey, flesh-like sludge that the Infestation produced. Without the threat that the Tenno posed, curious chittering began around them as Infested began to take interest in the two who definitively did not carry the Infestation’s scent.

“Why are we even doing this?” One hissed to the other, aiming his gun behind them to make sure there was nothing erupting with claws and teeth bared from the hallway behind them. “Can’t we just grab any old Infested and test Regor’s cure out that way?”

Regor. That name sent a ripple through the Infested, the formerly-Grineer members bristling and snarling while shying away from the approaching Tenno. Something stirred deeper in the facility, a ripple of activity following it as the Infested began their wordless cacophony.

“Um, something about aptitude?” The other replied, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve tried to ask about it but every time I just get bullshit. Something about needing to want to be cured was the last thing I heard. Apparently--”

Here she paused, glancing back at the Tenno before lowering her voice. “Apparently, they have tested it on just whatever they can get their hands on, but most of them are either killed outright by the cure or they go brain-dead. But if you ask me, there’s something else going on. The Veil’s been--”

The Tenno’s hand clapped the Operative on her shoulder, and she swore under her breath as her silent companion jerked their head to indicate the hallway that they wanted to go down. She pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to keep her breathing under control as her other companion gave the Tenno the thumbs-up and took the middle position. The trio progressed in silence for a few meters before the Operative got a chance to finish what she had been saying in a whisper.

“-- They’ve been  _ collecting _ Chargers.”

His world had been narrowed. He no longer saw through eyes, and hearing was impossible over the unending barrage of half-thoughts and compulsions. But he could still feel, and he could still smell, and he could still  _ taste _ . He did not quite hear the name  _ Regor _ , but his awareness of the name dawned as he raised his head up to smell the stagnant air. Saliva dripped from his mangled maw as the unfamiliar scent met his nose. Newcomers, two of unlike flesh and one of like-flesh. No, three of unlike flesh.

He would have to help change that. There wasn’t enough  _ self _ left in him to question if the thoughts were truly his own. All he knew was that he was to find the speaker and the other two and bring them into the fold. Violently, if necessary. His jaws separated and a low clicking sound came from deep inside of his chest. Violence was often necessary. Around him, other Infested received the order and surged forth into a grey tide. Numbers were ever on their side, even as the front guard fell before the Tenno’s weapons. Their blood streaked the floor and drove the onslaught into a frenzy.

Twisted throats howled in agony as many of their number fell, and he added his voice to the dirge before he too entered the fray. No bullets touched his flesh as he approached the only two he could sense. Their speech was foreign to what little of his mind remained, and utterly alien to the thing he currently was. He slowed as he approached, that which compelled him forward taking the moment to stop and taste the fear in the air. It, whatever it was, wanted to savor this moment. Savoring that was interrupted when something unseen, unheard, un- _ felt _ struck his side, and he turned to bite at the air near where it hit. His senses began to blur, and his muscle and sinew slowly stopped responding, a heavy thud following as he fell to the floor.

For the first time since he became what he was, his mind went quiet and sleep claimed him.

The Tenno had been called back to the rooms they had once dragged an unconscious Charger into, looking irritatedly around for the reason they had been called back to what they had considered a job done. But they had been told they needed to return, so they did. Operatives murmured amongst themselves as the Tenno passed by, a hush falling every time the Tenno looked in the direction of the voices.

“Tenno! Good.” A higher ranking Operative said, waving the Tenno over. “I’m glad you came, it’s… Well, it’s about the Charger you brought. It’s… How do I put this?”

The Operative seemed sheepish as the Tenno gestured for her to keep talking. Impatience was etched into every line of their body, but it evaporated when the Operative led them to the back room and spoke again, voice hushed. 

“The cure. It’s… Well, it’s  _ working  _ on this one. I’ve already sent the details to Cephalon Simaris, but the Syndicate felt you should see this.” She paused to unlock and open the door, stepping aside once it was open to let the Tenno into the darkened room. Inside, what had once been a grey lump of Infestation wrapped over the broken and twisted scaffold of a Grineer was slowly making progress towards normalcy. He lay facing away from the door, curling in on himself as the beam of light touched his skin. He was somewhere in between Charger and Grineer, an odd balance had been struck between the monstrosity and sickly man he had been.

When the door closed behind the Tenno, he stirred, looking up at them with a face still half-obscured by Infestation. The look in his exposed eye was… searching. He shied away from the Tenno as they approached, pressing himself against the back wall and cowering as they raised a hand. The touch against his skin was gentle, and when he finally speaks it is in a shaking, hollow voice.

“What did you do to me?” He rasped, tears welling in his single exposed eye. “I am not supposed to be… a ‘me’. I can’t hear them. Thank you. I hate this- this  _ self _ .”

The Tenno could tell he was burning up with fever, normal skin sweaty and hot to the touch. They shifted, tucking their legs underneath themself as they sat next to the man. Who are you, they seemed to ask as they ran a gentle hand down his back. Or maybe the question was who were you? Either way, he couldn’t answer. Too much of him was focused on fighting. He closed his eyes as the Tenno continued to stroke his back, finding comfort in their touch as the sickness raged on through his veins.

His spine did not untwist as he lay in a half-sleep, half-delirium. Some of the disease’s ravages could not be undone, but as more of his  _ self  _ returned, more of his original shape followed. Grey flesh and jet-black carapace receded as ribs reformed from twisted jaws, joints snapped back into place, and the howling of the Infested Hivemind finally faded into an easily-ignorable drone at the back of his skull. When he opened his eyes again, the Tenno was leaning on him like they had fallen asleep. The arm that had been bit by the charger was still covered in the Infestation’s signature thick grey flesh, but the abscesses were empty of pus and normal sensation had all but returned. He gripped his shoulder and winced - his arm ached, but he found comfort in it. There would not be a repeat of the medbay incident this way.

Sker was himself again, but at what cost? He was separated from his family, and he found himself monstrous when he looked at himself in the reflection on the Tenno’s metallic armor.

He was alive, he was himself, but he was alone.

Sker had never been alone in his life.

And it terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Almost done with this chapter!
> 
> I got. sidetracked by deimos whoops


	7. Meridian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Sker's backstory!! Hot damn we did it! Yeehaw!

“They never explained it to you, did they?”

Sker jolted slightly as he looked at the masked person who had spoken.  _ Grineer _ . Finally. Someone he could talk to. He mutely shook his head, and the person’s mask wrinkled in a way that suggested a sympathetic smile. She sat down across from him, prosthetic arm emblazoned with a familiar symbol. She was Grineer, obviously Grineer, with the scars and burns and rough voice to prove it.

“Yeah, they’re shit about teaching people what’s going in their bodies.” She turned to pick up the pill bottle that Sker had been handed and then set aside. She shook it a few times, the pills inside rattling against each other. “This is Regor’s work. He got into some pissing contest with two old Corpus fucks, and now we have an effective treatment. Last I heard he’s been secretly funneling it out to everyone who he can. He’s a piece of work and an asshole but… He knows to set things aside to work with people when nasty shit’s out there trying to eat everything we hold dear. No offense.”

“None taken.” Sker said, a shaky laugh leaving him. “What’s, um. What’s your name?”

“Rathka Duk.” She said, tossing the pills over to Sker. “I don’t know exactly how these work, but they keep you from worming out on accident, so… Take as directed.”

Sker stared at the bottle, the Grineer writing easily visible and easy to read. He turned it over in his hands a few times, brows furrowing together as he squinted at the date. Nobody could answer him when he asked how long he had been Infested, only that he was one of the oldest Chargers they’d ever seen, and he was the oldest Infested the cure had any affect on. It wasn’t the medication dependence that made him feel like an outcast and a monster, that was almost par for the course for Grineer. It was what it apparently held at bay.

“Accidentally?” He asked, glancing back up at Rathka. “Are you saying I could turn into that  _ thing _ again… on  _ purpose _ ?”

The grimace that twisted Rathka’s face soothed Sker somewhat. She apparently hated the idea as much as he did. “All I know is there’s Kavor out there who would appreciate something made mostly of teeth helping them and the Tenno out. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. The pills are supposed to make you not contagious and not about to eat anyone’s face off. Outside of that… It’s your game.”

“You mean that?” Sker asked, doubt etched on his face. “Last time I did my own thing… It ended badly.”

“Well, you’re Steel Meridian now.” Rathka shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Sker rolled the pill bottle back over, the Steel Meridian insignia printed on the bottle cheerfully looking back at him in bold black ink.

“More  _ rahn-sikkhat _ !”

The cry goes up, and guns are readied. The Kavor were pacifists, but that did not mean they were about to lay down and die as the Infestation rampaged through the ship. There was hesitation as Ignises are pointed towards the oncoming horde of twisted monstrosities. Some had been friends, once. Some had been friends just before the doors slammed shut. They only stopped being friends when the crying and pleading on the other side stopped - cut short by screams and the sound of bone snapping and deathly silence. With every death, hope faded. They were so few in number, and the air itself was killing them. They were almost ready to give up.

Then the Tenno came. They came with respirator clad Steel Meridian agents and both took over the task of fending off Infested and making sure none were left behind.

Except there was one. One running as fast as she could, pursued by what had once been a Grineer. It chased her to a dead-end, slowing down as if taking the opportunity to savor the Kavor’s fear. Thick, ropy saliva dropped from the creature’s mouth as it drew closer, maw stretching open to reveal rows upon rows of teeth. She closed her eyes, not wishing to see her oncoming death, and waited. But the pain did not come. Something had collided with the creature approaching her. Something that was tearing into it.

She opened her eyes and ran from the sound of bone snapping beneath powerful jaws. She had only caught a glimpse of her ‘savior’, and it seemed to be another, larger Infested, hell-bent on tearing apart the smaller Charger. When she reached the Tenno, she was ushered into the medbay of the ship, while another Tenno waited by the open door.

“What are you waiting for?” One of the Kavor demanded, panic in their eyes. “The  _ sikkhat _ \- Infested! They could get in! Close the door! We have all the survivors accounted for!”

The Tenno remained silent as ever, only lifting their weapon and looking down the sights at a Charger that was barreling down the hallway towards the ship - its maw caked in gore and jet black carapace reflecting the ship’s emergency lights. It reached the ship, and the Tenno stepped aside to let it through - fist slamming the button to close the door once it was inside. The Charger did not slow down, shield-like carapace colliding with the wall of the ship before backing up and shaking out its mane of tendrils. The Tenno affectionately patted its side before sitting down next to the stunned Kavor.

The Charger shook, body heaving like a drahk about to throw up, though instead of something emerging from its mouth it seemed to recede. Grey flesh crawled away from head and mouth, carapace shifted back, joints twisted, and skin knit back together. The culmination of the changes was that of a very exhausted, very  _ naked _ , very obviously Infested Grineer collapsing onto the floor of the ship and passing out. One of the Meridian unceremoniously dropped a blanket over him and put a wrapped protein bar next to his head.

When he woke up, the first thing he did was grab the protein bar and tear the wrapper off with his teeth. He effectively inhaled it, barely even pausing to chew or breathe. The Kavor were still staring at him, but he didn’t seem to care too much, or he was too busy arranging the blanket to cover his lower half to pay them much mind.

Eventually, one of the Kavor spoke. “What the  _ fuck _ ?!”

“Yeah.” He said, scratching the brown fuzz that covered his head and served for hair. “That’s about how I felt the first time too. I’m… My name is Sker. I am the Infested Meridian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! This was a lot of fun to write, because I care about Sker so much. Please listen to me talk about my ocs. I love them.
> 
> Yes, he's basically a werewolf and part of what he Does with the Steel Meridian is counter-maul the Infested and help out with Kavor defections. Yes, I love him a lot. Yes, that's his tumblr url (infested-meridian) at the end.


End file.
